It Happened to Me: I Had a Mental Breakdown at My First Suburban Block Party
But I hadn’t jumped in the lake with my clothes on for a whole year!
I heard about the annual October-fest-style party on our new block before we even moved here. “Your street has the best block party!” someone in the local moms' Facebook group told me.
This was in June 2023, and I was in our sublet in Brooklyn, searching for future friends in our future suburb of Chicago.
A few weeks later, my family arrived in this quaint little place, followed by our ginormous moving truck with a New York Yankees logo splashed across it. We chose our new town for the progressive education in the schools, the public access to nature (beaches, forest preserves, lagoons, hiking trails), and to be close to family. (My family. I grew up around here.)
I was also packing a full load of New Yorker-level “I didn’t come here to make friends” attitude. I told myself, “I’m not going to be fake or whatever to try and impress you perfect-looking people.” My Brooklyn friends rolled their eyes. “Of course, you're going to make friends,” they told me. I mean, I guess I am kinda fun?
But I was skeptical about connecting to anyone in this place. I was simultaneously intimidated by and judgey of the moms who got dressed up for pick up, had their hair blown out always, and smiled as they loaded their kids in and out of minivans. My Brooklyn crew was a little more, “We wear joggers and no makeup to pick up and then drag our screaming kids down the dirty sidewalks while talking shit about our boss/husband/in-laws/whatever person is bothering us today.”
During that first summer, I met a few of my new neighbors. I was surprised to find they were pretty cool and down to earth — far from the prim and primped snobs I’d imagined. I wanted to connect with them, but, I was so bone tired from packing, moving, and unpacking twice in six months (I even fell ill with exhaustion Ballerina Farm style) that I wasn’t much fun to be around.
Summer also ushered in a series of humiliating dumpster fires — my son telling a lovely, well-connected mom that he got “kicked in the balls” at tennis camp (they don’t say “balls” here) [I know the town Corynne is in, and she’s right, they don’t. -Charlie], me jumping into Lake Michigan in front of all the townspeople because I thought our daughter was drowning (she may or may not have been, depends on who you ask) and then finding out after it was way too late that the shirt I wore to the school meet-and-greet was totally see-through. I was ready to crawl into bed, never to be seen again.
Yet, one year later, I was dead set on attending My First Suburban Block Party™.
This time, I felt confident. I hadn’t jumped in the lake with my clothes on for a whole year! And my kids were making real friends. Maybe I was, too?